Conscious Dreams
by CountryGirl914
Summary: Something's happening between House and Cameron...but only in his dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **So, to get one of the big questions out of the way--has _No Reason_ happened yet in this story? Is it even a part of this universe? That's completely up to you—I'm not mentioning it either way. Because, wow, I definitely need to watch that episode again and maybe, like, take notes before I could ever write a story that includes it. I did, however, think this up quite soon after the finale aired, so I guess it deserves props for inspiration.

This story is a work in progress—there should be one more big chapter. I usually don't like to post things until they're complete, but this seemed like a pretty good stopping point, and I'm hoping that knowing I have people waiting for me to finish will help keep the muse from running away. They're flighty little things, aren't they?

This is also the first time I've written any part of a story in the present tense, but it just seemed to fit. Hope everyone else agrees.

And finally, big thanks to **CarefullyAskingGrace** over at YTDaW and **vartanluvva** for looking over what I'd written so far and decreeing it to be quite all right.

**Feedback:** Gets read over and over and over….you get the drift. Please review!

* * *

House sat in his chair, tossing his red ball in the air as he slowly swayed from side to side. Their latest patient was doing decently—meaning, by diagnostics department standards, that they hadn't had to shock her back to life yet. They had plenty of time for the puzzle pieces to fall into place, no matter what Cameron thought.

There was a noise at his office door, and House looked up to see the object of his musings come striding toward him. "No."

Cameron stopped short, heaving an exasperated sigh before plowing forward. "She had another seizure."

"Oh, well, of course, then!" House exclaimed, his face briefly contorting into a maniacal expression of glee before dropping again. "No."

His fellow could only glare at him. "Come _on_, House! She fits all the requirements—the seizures are increasing in frequency, just like they should if it's—"

"Except for those pesky symptoms she presented with," he interrupted, "completely blowing your theory out of the water."

"Not always," Cameron countered. "Not if—"

"Highly unlikely," House interrupted again.

Cameron's eyes widened as she tried to contain her frustration. "Let. Me. Finish! And since when are our cases _likely_?"

He deftly avoided the second part of her outburst. "Why let you finish when you're going in the completely wrong direction? I'd hate for you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, of _course_."

House opened his mouth to snark back, but his remarks died on his lips as Chase rushed into the room, a folder that could only be test results clutched in his hand. Both doctors turned toward him expectantly. Chase opened his mouth—

—and the buzzing of an alarm clock filled the room.

* * *

House jerks and throws his arm off the bed, managing to turn off the alarm clock without knocking it to the floor. He lays there, silent for a moment, the pain in his leg for once at the back of his active mind as he ponders the curious images just now starting to fade from the inside of his eyelids. A dream? About _Cameron_? He rarely dreams, and when he does it usually involves his patient of the moment and nothing more, his resting mind still puzzling over the latest riddle. Well, he smiles, there had been that one, with Cuddy, Cameron, and some naughty nurse outfits, but he'd been daydreaming in his office, so it probably doesn't count.

He dismisses the dream as he slowly inches his way into a semi-upright position, ever mindful of his leg. It is a byproduct of last night's really leftover Chinese and an extra helping of Vicodin, nothing more. Successfully convinced, he goes about his day, positive the dream is an anomaly even as his head hits the pillow again that night.

* * *

House again sat behind his desk, but this time he was brooding. Chase's test results had, against all odds, confirmed Cameron's diagnosis. And while the immunologist was too _nice_ to gloat, he had felt her proud expression all day, burning into his back like a cattle brand. Dammit. Dammit all to hell.

The doctor in question was in the conference room, shutting down her laptop and getting ready to leave for the day. House watched as she hesitated outside his office door for a moment before walking in. "The patient's stable," she told him, "and her seizures have stopped."

House pushed his chair away from the desk. "Yippee."

Cameron frowned at him. "But she's getting better. Why are you—" She stopped as the realization hit her, then started grinning slyly. "You're just mad that I figured it out before you."

House just grumbled, and her smile grew wider. "You _are_! You're upset because one of us finally got the diagnosis right." Cameron laughed as she leaned back against the door. "Well, it was bound to happen sometime—we are supposed to be learning from you. Besides, I wouldn't count on it happening often—we'll never be as good as you."

His stomach twisted at her words. She was always doing this, looking at him in awe, speaking of him as if he were perfect, god-like, instead of the angry addict that he was. "Don't."

Cameron stood up straighter, confused. "Don't what?"

House's voice was low, sorrowful. "Don't put me on a pedestal. I don't deserve it."

The teasing mood quickly drained out of the room, and Cameron's expression fell as his words sunk in. "House," she said softly, making her way over to his desk. "I stopped doing that a long time ago. I'm just stating the facts. You'll always be better at diagnostics than me. And it doesn't bother me. I'm great at what we do, but you're a genius at it. It gives me something to aspire to." She was beside him now, right hip leaning against the edge of his desk. "You think you're damaged. I think you're intriguing. Why does it get you so upset that I think of you as an intelligent, interesting, witty, sarcastic man? That I care about you?"

Her proximity was making his blood roar in his ears, the impossible so close he could almost touch it. He refused to let himself. "I don't deserve to have someone care about me."

Cameron shook her head sadly. "Oh, House," she whispered. "Everyone does." And then her lips were on his.

He tried to pull away, but she trailed her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him in place, and ran her tongue gently over the seam of his lips, and then he was opening his mouth to her and was lost. At some point in the past he had sarcastically decided that someone as sweet as Allison Cameron would taste like sickly sweet cotton candy and rainbows and sunshine, but it was nothing like that. She tasted of the rich coffee she'd drunk that morning, laced with peppermint from the red and white candy she'd eaten that afternoon. She smelled of vanilla, flowers, and spice, be it from perfume or shampoo, and that womanly musk that was undeniably _Cameron_ and oh God he was falling, giving in, pulling her closer, and she felt like benediction and absolution and salvation all at once.

At some point—he couldn't tell how long it had been—she slowly pulled away, and he gazed unbelievingly at her slightly swollen lips before looking up into her eyes, which were shining with an emotion that, if he remembered correctly, looked a little like love.

When she spoke, staring straight at him, her voice was husky. "A mere mortal…just like I always suspected."

* * *

House doesn't need the alarm clock this time as he wakes up in the early morning hours, breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on his face, almost able to feel the phantom touch of Cameron's lips on his. What the hell is going on? He's never had dreams like this before, and he hates it. For someone who thrives on being able to control his life and surroundings, these dreams are a complete relinquishment of that power. He lies back down. Sleep is impossible, but he welcomes that—he is scared of what he would see if he closes his eyes.

He is still obsessing over the dreams as he gets to work—on time for once in his life—and that and the lack of sleep must be getting to him, as Chase is first to comment on Cameron's do-me heels—higher, pointier, strappier than usual. As the blush rises on her cheeks, he takes the opportunity to look over her outfit—at the shorter than normal skirt, the filmy top, and the blazer topping it off that's making a work appropriate outfit out of something that's not, easily shrugged off at the end of the day. He knows even before she speaks—"Drinks with Brian from radiology after work. I don't have to check in with you guys, do I?" she teases her colleagues—and he feels a familiar twisting in his stomach. He's never going to be stupid enough (more like brave enough, his brain taunts him, but he quickly pushes the thought aside) to ask her out on another date, but he's been enjoying the status quo. And now she's gone and ruined it, and he can't help but feel an ache for what he can never have. Maybe the dreams aren't as bad as he thought.

Everyone files out of the conference room to perform their various tests. Cameron is last, and House calls out to her as she reaches the door, because he has to make sure the hole he's dug for himself is as deep as possible. "He's going to have a lot to live up to."

Cameron looks back, confused, and the hateful words are out of his mouth before he even thinks about it. "I mean, compared to our dates. You do compare all the men in your life to me, don't you?"

There is both sadness and resignation in her eyes as she shakes her head, and as she pulls the door open she whispers, so softly he almost misses it—"I stopped putting you on a pedestal a long time ago."

If she notices the way his step falters, she doesn't mention it.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Oh. My. God. No, you're not imagining things—this really is the second and final chapter to _Conscious Dreams_. I have no idea why it took me so long to finish this—I'm so sorry for the delay—but _thank you_ to everyone who's been waiting patiently for this. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

There's also an old Grissom/Sara quote from CSI in here. It just seemed to fit.

**Feedback:** Is _love_. Please review!

* * *

House glared at the door in front of him, which he had just rapped his cane against moments ago. He shouldn't be doing this. It had been a week since Cameron kissed him in his office. She'd been silent on the topic ever since, which surprised him, as he thought she'd be giving him speeches about love and feelings and everything he wanted to avoid. But she had gone about her job as if nothing had changed, the silent message still coming through loud and clear. The ball was in his court now—she was just waiting for his next move. He should have done nothing, just ignored it all and let things fall back into their normal routine, quashing any notion Cameron had about the two of them.

It was what he should have done. And yet here he was, outside her door.

He was about to batter the door with his cane for a second time when it opened, surprise on Cameron's face at the sight of him. "House."

They stood in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other, until House finally raised his free hand, bringing two paper tickets into view.

"The seats aren't as good as they were last time, but Gravedigger's going to be there again…" He trailed off as Cameron quirked an eyebrow at him. What in the hell was he doing? He wasn't even sure why he was there in the first place, and the fact that he couldn't read Cameron's expression didn't help his insecurity. Add to that the fact that he'd come over without any warning. What if she already had plans for the night? He was just making a complete and utter ass out of himself.

His train of thought was derailed when Cameron spoke again, a grin starting to curl up her lips. "Just let me grab my purse and coat."

His nerves seemed to triple on the way to the rally, but disappeared once they got there—somehow they easily slid back into the repartee they'd enjoyed last time, cheering for Gravedigger and consuming copious amounts of cotton candy. It was only at the end of the night, standing in front of the door to Cameron's apartment, that their awkwardness returned.

After a few moments Cameron smiled nervously. "Maybe I'm being a little forward, but this would be the right time for a good night kiss, wouldn't it?"

House didn't want to admit he had been thinking the same thing. "We live in a modern society—the man doesn't have to initiate everything."

Cameron's smile became more confident. "I kissed you in your office—I'd say it's your turn this time."

"Yeah," he murmured, standing still a little longer before finally leaning forward, intending to press a kiss against her cheek.

But Cameron wasn't about to let him get away with that. At the last moment she tilted her head, and lips met lips, long and slow.

They both kept their eyes closed when they pulled apart. "And since we do live in a modern society, it's my turn," she said, warm breath blowing over his sensitive lips. "I'll pick you up Friday at seven. Wear a suit." And with that she slipped into her apartment.

Friday brought Cameron back to him in a sapphire blue dress that whispered around her knees. In the car he pestered her to reveal where they were going, but she wouldn't budge. The route looked familiar, but it wasn't until they pulled up in front of Café Spiletto that he understood why. Seeing him tense, Cameron laid her hand on his forearm.

"When you fall off your bike, you're supposed to get back on and try again. It's time to replace the bad memories."

In the restaurant there were no mentions of Freud or need or damage. Cameron started the night with an out of character crack about the waiter's hair, to put him at ease, and they spent the rest of the night discussing their current case—and their fellow diners. Afterwards they stopped at a no-name greasy spoon and ordered giant ice cream sundaes, enjoying the fact that their finery was completely incongruous with the cracked linoleum and peeling paint of their surroundings.

The entire night just felt natural. It felt natural to invite Cameron in for a drink when they got back to his place.

It felt natural to sit next to her on the couch, watching the graceful movements of her throat as she swallowed.

It felt natural to lean over and kiss her as she set her glass down, the bite of the alcohol still on her tongue.

It felt natural to lead her to his bedroom, pulling down the zipper of her dress so he could taste her silky skin while she pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders.

And later, as Cameron rested her head on his chest, linking his fingers with hers, he wondered why he'd taken so long to do something that felt so right.

* * *

Cameron goes out with Brian three times in the next two weeks (he's not paying extra attention, noting when she comes to work wearing fancier clothes and brighter smiles, no—he wouldn't do that). He could say something, but he doesn't. Real life relationships are too messy, too fraught with trials and tribulations, hurt and pain. It's easier to pull the covers over his head every night and immerse himself in a life where nothing seems to go wrong.

* * *

Cameron was walking back to the diagnostics department, clinic duty done for the week, when a hand reached out and pulled her into an empty exam room. She smiled as House closed the door behind them and turned back around, hugging her to him and burying his face in her neck. "Are you sure about this?" she teased. "My boss might notice that I'm not back."

House kissed the base of her neck, and her knees buckled slightly. "Oh," he murmured into her hair, "I think he'll understand."

She enjoyed the sensation for a few moments more before gently extricating herself from his arms. "I'm not sure we should be doing this here."

"Oh, come on—where's your sense of adventure?" He reached out for her again, but she stepped aside.

"I mean it, Greg. We could get caught if we're not careful."

House scoffed. "I don't think Cuddy would mind the canoodling."

Cameron shook her head. "We could lose our jobs. I know you're not worried about that, but I am—for me and for you. We still have to be careful."

He stared at her, a tendril of self-loathing and doubt starting to unfurl again. "You're not worried about your job—you're worried that people will find out that you're dating the crippled old man."

Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" It was her reaching out to him now, but House wasn't about to be stopped.

"So what happened—finally get tired of me? Finally realize that I'm always going to be rude and sarcastic, and nothing you do is going to change that? Or did the sex just get boring?"

Cameron jerked back as if she'd been burned, looking at him in horror and hurt. She finally spoke. "And here I thought, over two months into a relationship, that you trusted me a little more than that. Guess I was wrong." She forcefully brushed the wrinkles out of her shirt and straightened her lab coat, trying to control her emotions. "You can cancel that dinner reservation we had for tonight. In fact, I think I'm just going to stay home."

"Fine!" he shouted as she left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. "Fine by me."

* * *

House leans back in his desk chair, trying as hard as he can to clear his clouded mind. After waking up from that night's dream a few hours after midnight he hadn't allowed himself to go back to sleep, afraid of what he might see. And the lack of patients they've had that day just lets him dwell on the subject even more.

Rustling in the conference room makes him blink and look over. It's Cameron, shuffling charts as she tries to catch up on paperwork. He can still remember her interview, fresh faced and eager. Beneath all of his superficial reasons for hiring her, though he would never admit it, had been the fact that she had potential. In the right hands, with a strong enough push, he had almost been able to see the first-class doctor that she could be. And suddenly, he realizes that it is no longer a matter of if, but when.

When had that happened?

House gets up from his desk and shuffles into the next room, Cameron looking up as the door opens. He just stares at her for a moment before speaking. "I haven't seen you for a while, have I?"

Her expression softens as she shakes her head. "You see me every day, House. You just haven't noticed me in a while."

He turns on the TV and starts the coffee maker as soon as he gets home, determined to stay awake. The one place where everything goes right has deserted him, and he doesn't want to see what his dreams turn into, to have to live with a relationship gone sour, as it would in real life. But he's fighting a losing battle, and soon he's falling asleep on the sofa, lights still on.

* * *

House sighed as he sat in his living room, unseeing eyes glossing over the reality show his television was currently playing. His righteous anger had been slowly draining away since his fight with Cameron, leaving him weary and agitated. His selfish pride had him wanting to wait until Cameron apologized, but deep down he knew that she wasn't the one at fault. The only question was—did he have the courage to not take the easy way out and set things right?

He sat there stubbornly in silence for a few minutes longer, until the void from Cameron's absence became too much to bear. He swiftly stood up and grabbed his jacket and keys, determined to get to her apartment before he changed his mind. He hobbled to the entrance and opened the door.

And there she was, startled, one hand raised to where the door had just been.

They both stood there awkwardly for a few moments. "So imagine my surprise," House began, "when I went to out us to Cuddy, only to find out that she already knew. Seems she'd been informed of the situation a few hours before."

Cameron looked down, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "Greg, I'm sorry that—"

"No," he said, causing her to look up again. "You have nothing to apologize for, Allison. We do have to worry about office politics, no matter how much I avoid them. And I should have taken what you said at face value, without trying to put some hidden meaning behind it."

"And _I_ shouldn't have believed that everything would be sunshine and roses all the time," she replied, slowly starting to smile. "How about we just agree that we were both acting silly and leave it at that?"

House started to smile as well. "That sounds good."

She lifted a hand, and for the first time he noticed the takeout bag she held. "I know we can't make our reservation, but I figured we could still have dinner."

His smile grew even wider as he stepped aside to let her in. "That sounds even better."

Later that night Cameron rolled over in bed to face him, propping her head up with her hand. "So, our first big fight is out of the way. That wasn't so bad."

He traced her fingers with his own. "Won't be the last, you know."

She shrugged a shoulder. "So? We'll get through them. Nothing good comes easily." Her expression softened. "I'd forgotten what it felt like to be home alone."

"Yeah. Me too." Being with Cameron had become part of his routine, and even part of a night without her had made him jumpy and depressed. He looked at her, taking in the way the moonlight lit up her pale skin. She looked like she belonged there. "Move in with me."

Her eyes widened. "Greg, we've only been going out a few months. It's too soon—"

"Like we've ever done anything normally. Move in with me."

She laughed at his statement, eyes starting to shine a little. She leaned in for a kiss.

"Okay."

* * *

It feels like he's living two separate lives, and as good as he is, sometimes he slips. One day he calls her Allison during the differential diagnosis and doesn't realize it until he turns to see three pairs of bewildered eyes staring at him. "What? It is her name," he says, but it's a weak comeback, even for him.

Another time he's alone with her, waiting for the elevator. When it comes, unthinkingly, he puts his hand on the small of her back to guide her in. It's only after the doors close and he registers her questioning look and the muscles tensed in surprise under his hand that he removes it.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Don't want to give Radiology Boy the wrong idea."

Cameron just scoffs. "I haven't been with Brian for weeks, House. He's a nice guy, but we both decided that it wasn't working out."

"He didn't turn out to be your Prince Charming? That's just too bad."

She shrugs a shoulder, and he has a vivid flash of her bare shoulder doing the same thing. It throws him, and he has to struggle to follow what she's saying.

"It was nice while it lasted. But it's not like I can't survive without a man." She catches his eye in the steel doors' reflection. "I'll know what I want when I see it. I'm willing to wait."

* * *

Cameron had been feeling off for over a week, feverish, tired, and achy, like she'd caught a cold and just couldn't shake it. It made House miserable to see her so miserable, and so he'd nagged and nagged until she finally promised to get someone at the hospital to check her out.

She just happened to ask Wilson. Apparently, fate loved irony.

Cancer.

He sat numbly in Wilson's office, arm around Cameron's shaking shoulders. They'd become worried when Wilson did test after test, culminating in a biopsy, and then somberly asked House to come to his office along with Cameron, but somehow neither of them had expected this.

Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Aggressive, and late stage. Wilson wanted to be optimistic, but he knew them too well, and didn't sugarcoat the news.

It didn't look good.

Cameron started treatment the next day. She tried to keep life as normal as possible, coming into work like usual, but soon the side effects from the chemo—nausea, fatigue, an inability to concentrate—became too much, and she had to take a leave of absence.

Things only got worse as the months went by. House felt like he could practically see the weight dropping off her already thin body, the circles darkening underneath her eyes. She started spending more and more time in bed or on the couch, unable to find the strength to do more.

One day, when House came home to find her asleep in their room, he sat down beside her and just _looked_, eyes noting how bony she'd become, how her skin had become thin and pale, her once lustrous hair gone. She was still beautiful to him—but it killed him to see her in so much pain. He didn't want to think about what might happen.

And suddenly he's not Gregory House—he's a twenty-one year old Allison Cameron, sitting beside a man who's going to die too soon, and she doesn't want to marry him because she's needy. She wants to marry him because she loves him so much her heart's about to break, and marriage is the most permanent way to express that emotion. No matter how long or short it lasts it shows the world that she's his and he's hers, and no one can take that away.

For the first time he could understand why she married a dying man.

"Greg?" Her tired voice instantly snapped him back to the present. "You okay? You looked like you were a million miles away."

He looked at the woman in front of him, and there was only one thing he wanted to say. "Marry me."

She gaped at him for a moment, surprised by the suddenness of the proposal, before she saw the emotion in his eyes. She gave him the brightest smile she could manage, eyes shining. "Okay."

They found a justice of the peace who would come to them. The ceremony was small, with just Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, and Chase in attendance. It was the happiest day of his life, pledging to love and honor Allison.

Even if both of their voices cracked when repeating "till death do us part."

As her condition worsened they discussed checking her into the hospital, but it never went further than that. While she didn't want to go, she was worried about the strain it would put on House. But he wouldn't hear of it. They'd hire hospice care if it became too much. He was going to be with her for as long as possible.

One morning a month after the wedding found the couple in bed, House facing Allison, watching as she struggled to breathe evenly. She turned her head towards him. "I'm so sorry, Greg, for all of this."

He frowned at her. "Yes, because you knew all along that you were going to get cancer."

She laughed softly, wincing slightly as it turned into a cough. "So," she said when the fit ended, "you don't regret it? You took a chance, and I'm going to end up dying before you."

He stared down at her. "I don't. No matter how this ends, no matter how I feel after…" He swallowed heavily. "It was worth it. _You_ were worth it. I love you, Allison."

"I love you too," she said softly. "And remember that. Remember that it was worth it."

There was no dramatic death scene, like in the movies. One moment she was smiling at him, peaceful, and the next her eyes were empty, unseeing, her chest lowering and not rising again. He waited for a moment, hoping against hope for a miracle, before letting out a shuddering breath and reaching out a shaking hand to gently close her eyes.

And then he woke up.

* * *

He throws his hands out in front of him, ready to break a fall, as he feels his legs slip off whatever they are resting against. His eyes snap open, and for a moment he's disoriented by the colors and the glass, slightly obscured by unshed tears.

His office. He's not in his bed, in his townhouse. He's fallen asleep at the hospital. This has never happened before.

But before he can ponder the situation any further, the door to his office opens.

"House?" Cameron calls softly, striding into the room. "Everyone left for the day half an hour ago. I can't believe Chase and Foreman beat you out of here."

He can't move. He can't _breathe_. There she is, healthy and vibrant, standing before him, and all he can do is drink in the sight of her.

"House?" she says again, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. "Is everything all right?"

Oh, everything's more than alright. He knows, rationally, that it was all just a dream, but all he can think of is _she's alive, she's alive, oh thank God she's alive_ and suddenly he's out of his chair and striding over to her, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her to him.

Cameron hugs him back, but only out of instinct, and her voice betrays her shock. "What's gotten into you?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, absorbed as he is in the smell of her perfume and the feel of her hair against his cheek. This isn't a dream. This is real, and it feels so much better than he ever imagined. He finally pulls back to take in her shocked and confused expression.

"It…it doesn't make sense. It makes absolutely no rational sense. It's insane…" He doesn't want to explain, to lay himself bare, but Cameron's giving him a look that says she already thinks he's crazy, that she's seconds away from going to find Wilson, and suddenly he's blurting it out.

"I've been having dreams about you. Me and you. It's been going on for months, and I can't make them stop." He runs a hand over his face in embarrassment and frustration.

Cameron frowns slightly. "What kind of…" She trails off, and he can practically see the wheels turning in her mind, connecting everything, from _Allison_ and the hand on her back to this very moment. Despite all of the disparaging remarks he throws her way, he knows she's not a stupid woman.

Her jaw drops slightly. "Oh," she breathes. There's silence for a moment, then—"What happened tonight?"

"What?"

Her eyes never leave his. "You didn't let it show much before, but tonight…" She motions at his office, at the two of them, and he tries to push the nervousness away. "This was different. Something happened. What was it, House?"

He wants to look away, to shrug off her probing questions, but he can't seem to tear his eyes away from her. Her hair shifts as she moves slightly, and his fingers itch at the phantom memory of running his fingers through it.

"You died."

Her eyes widen and he clears his throat, trying to dislodge the thickness that has collected there. "You died, and all I could do was sit there and watch you fade away. And yet…" There's no going back now. "I'd do it all over again. I was sitting there, and you were gone, and that was the only thing running through my head. It was painful, and it didn't last forever, but it was worth it. You were worth it." There's a beat. "And now I don't know what to do."

He hates losing control, and now he's relinquished it twice—first to the dreams, and now to the woman in front of him.

"I think that we have a lot to talk about," Cameron says, slowly, and if he's not imagining things there's nervousness and hope in her expression. "There's a nice Italian place a few blocks from here. We could go there and continue this discussion, if you want. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Yeah. Me too." He laughs, relieved, and she smiles brightly at him before moving to collect her coat and purse. He's right behind her as she opens the door to his office, and this time there's no reason not to put his hand on the small of her back to guide her out, and he smiles to himself as, after a moment, she relaxes into his touch instead of tensing.

He can do this, is allowed to do this, now.

He wants to do this.

He'll finally let himself do this.

Sometimes, dreams really do come true.

* * *


End file.
